‘Hi, Joe,’ I said, trying to sound casual. ‘I just thought I’d check in on you – see how you’re doing?’
‘Um, I’m good,’ he said. ‘Yeah, I’m fine.’ He sounded a little slurry, and I suspected he was already drunk.
‘So, what have you got planned for tonight?’ I asked. ‘You out painting the town, or what?’
But Joe’s life was clearly not my own. He had actual friends to hang out with – of course he did. ‘You can join us if you want,’ he said, rather unconvincingly, I thought. ‘But we’re only going to The Gate.’
‘Nah, you’re all right,’ I said. ‘New Year’s Eve isn’t really my thing. I generally just watch a film and eat chocolate. I just wanted to check you’re OK.’
‘Yeah,’ Joe said. ‘I’m fine.’
‘You have a lovely evening with your friends then, OK? And I’ll talk to you in 2019!’
‘Sure,’ Joe said. ‘You too. I mean, have a lovely evening with your chocolate.’
Outside, it had started to rain heavily. At least I wasn’t out in that, I told myself.
I heated some leftover lasagne I’d frozen and ate it in front of a saved episode of Doctor Who. I watched Terry and June and Absolutely Fabulous: The Movie, neither of which managed to make me laugh. I watched Jools’ Annual Hootenanny, and by the time midnight struck I was quite tipsy. The fake TV studio merriment made my teeth ache, so I clicked off the TV and sat for a moment listening to the rain outside. I thought about the girls and wondered if they had snow in Wales.
I switched off the lights and stumbled upstairs. As I slipped beneath the covers, I pictured Kerry dancing in a nightclub in Rome. She was such a manic dancer – just the thought of it made me smile. A smile! I’d finally managed it.
And then, even though the alarm clock still only read 12.22, I closed my eyes and slipped into the far less challenging world of sleep.
Twelve
Joe
Everything I’d told Heather was true. I really had planned a night in the local pub with Joe, his girlfriend, and his mates. But even as I was inviting Heather to join us, I suspected not only that she wouldn’t come, but that I wasn’t going to go either. Joe’s crowd were all in their twenties and on New Year’s Eve they’d be rioting. The more I thought about it, the more I realised that I simply couldn’t face it.
So I stayed home alone, and I drank. I started off on gin and tonics, and when I ran out of tonic I drank gin on the rocks. And as I got ever more bladdered, my mood shifted through a number of phases. I felt happy briefly, and then lonely. I felt sad and then, thinking about how I’d been cheated out of New Year with my wife and son, jealous. I thought about the fact that Amy had chosen Anthony over me and got so angry that I punched a wall. It was the first time I’d ever done that, and it proved to be less satisfying and more painful than it looked in films. And then, as the TV screen became increasingly blurred, the alcohol finally did its job, taking me to a place where I felt nothing at all.
Dad sent me a text just after midnight, but though I tried, I was too drunk to read what it said, which should give you some idea of the damage.
I woke up at seven on the sofa, with Riley snuggled against me and the TV still playing to the room. On-screen, a couple of bright and breezy presenters were chatting on a colourful sofa. My head was throbbing and I needed to pee, so I switched off the happy couple and headed upstairs for an aspirin and bed. But when I got there, I couldn’t get back to sleep. I tried for an hour, tossing and turning, before finally, feeling utterly, utterly awful, I got back up and said hello to the fabulous new year that had begun. Riley wanted feeding right now and the smell of cat food made me retch.
On the evening of the second, when Amy turned up on the doorstep with Ben, I was still feeling rough enough that I’d taken a rare day off work and been home all day.
‘I want to talk to you,’ she said.
I barely managed to stifle the groan.
Ben went off in search of Riley, so I led the way through to the lounge. I noted that Amy had closed the door behind her for privacy and wondered what this was going to be about.
‘You look terrible, Joe,’ she said, perching on the edge of the couch.
‘Thanks,’ I replied. ‘’s always good to hear.’
‘You had a rocking New Year’s Eve by the looks of it, then?’
I told her I really didn’t want to talk about it.
‘Fine,’ she said. ‘Well, we had a great time. The cottage was—’
‘Amy,’ I said, interrupting her. ‘I don’t want to hear about your New Year’s Eve either, OK?’
‘Oh. OK. I was only making conversation, but . . .’
‘Yeah, well . . . don’t,’ I said. ‘Was there something specific, or . . . ?’
Amy nodded, and looked uncomfortable. She shuffled back in her seat and laid one arm across the back of the sofa. She caressed the fabric gently with her hand. ‘So, look . . .’ she said, ‘this is difficult . . .’ She glanced around the room, taking in all that was hers, and I instantly knew what was coming.
‘You want the house back,’ I said, pre-empting her. ‘The answer’s yes, of course. You can have it. When do you need me out by?’
‘Oh!’ Amy said, visibly thrown by the fact that the spiel she’d so carefully prepared was no longer needed. ‘It’s just that the flat’s been sold, and we can’t go back to that
